


can't steal happiness

by wintercreek



Category: Mary Russell - King
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 04:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercreek/pseuds/wintercreek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sussex, 1917. In which Holmes and Russell come to several understandings and Russell acquires a new set of skills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can't steal happiness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flyakate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyakate/gifts).



> This fic owes its existence in part, and rather circuitously, to Icepixie's [Astaire/Rogers vid, "Happiness."](http://icepixie.livejournal.com/651070.html) The Weepies' song "Happiness," used for the aforementioned vid, also supplied the title.
> 
> I suspect this fic is not entirely canonical: a belated examination of BEEK does not suggest that Holmes would have directly involved Russell, in 1917, with even a minor case. I beg the reader's indulgence. Flyakate, I hope you like it!

"Holmes, I'm not certain that this is entirely proper." I followed at his heels through an Eastbourne crowd, protesting in as subtle a manner as I could manage. "I know that it's not the apprentice's place to question the master, but are you sure these skills are necessary?"

He stopped and turned to fix me with a piercing gaze. "Russell, if you aren't dedicated to the work you need only say so and I shall return you to your life of indolence and Latin verbs among the sheep."

I refused to back down and glared back at him. "Certainly I'm committed to learning what I need to know. I merely want to know why I need to learn to pick pockets!" At his look of startled disapproval I flushed. I'd just proved myself an utter failure at conducting our argument unobtrusively. Although Holmes could often be a showman, he loathed having attention drawn to him against his will.

He stalked into a convenient alley and I followed, silent and contrite. When we were out of the crowd he sighed heavily and turned to me. "Really, Russ. You needn't go to such lengths to ruin my plans."

"I'm sorry, Holmes. Why don't we take some lunch and try again?" I hoped he would give me a chance to be a better pupil, and that he would take my obedience for the apology that it was. He did.

*

Our reconciliation lasted three hours.

Holmes had been showing me the pickpocket's art for the better part of the afternoon, discoursing, demonstrating and testing my skills. After the camaraderie of the early afternoon, our evening was even more jarring for its descent into discord.

"Honestly, it's like you aren't trying at all." Holmes looked away in disgust as I failed, once again, to remove my hand from his pocket without drawing his attention. "I am confident that you are capable of much greater dexterity than this. I suspect that in this case the flesh is willing and the spirit weak," he concluded, turning back to me. "Again."

This was, I had come to know, characteristic of a Holmes who found himself bored or stymied. Blessed and cursed with a mind that could not rest, the man became insufferable when insufficiently occupied. I held back a sigh and attempted to distract him before trying again to remove an item, any item, from his pocket. "How is the Carlton case progressing?"

"It is not, as you well know Russell, and stop trying to draw my attention away from your clumsiness. Whomever took the documents left very little in the way of identifying evidence and scarcely more to indicate his intentions." Holmes turned abruptly and began walking, leaving me to scramble after him.

He had been shorter with me since I had recently solidified my plans to attend Oxford in the fall. I couldn't fathom why - surely the man had known from our first meeting that I had plans to attend university. He accused me constantly of wavering dedication, cut me off when I ventured discussion on the occasional investigation he deigned to share with me. It had been a very trying week. I sighed. As usual, there was little for me to do but follow him and try to make the best of it.

Unfortunately, Holmes heard my sigh. "If you find my presence so trying, Russell, you are quite certainly free to go."

It was at this point, I am embarrassed to say, that I nearly stalked off in a huff. I am not accustomed to being casually dismissed for imagined slights and, even with the understanding of Holmes's often acerbic temperament, the endless baiting and attempts to push me away were wearing. "Don't be ridiculous, Holmes," I retorted. "As if a person weren't allowed to breathe in your immediate vicinity without giving offense. Of course I find you trying, and of course I shan't leave."

He paused, almost as if to wait for me to catch up. When I'd drawn even with him he began to walk again and, without preamble, asked, "Shall we see about dinner?"

*

We walked the beach front after dinner and then returned to the streets of Eastbourne, circling round the area in which Holmes suspected the Carlton papers were hidden. Our dinner table speculation and theorizing had developed into the idea that the papers were not only hidden in plain sight but also concealed by a person likely to be overlooked. A street person, not to put too fine a point on it: mobile, uncomfortable for the upper classes to contemplate, and instantly ruled out by police forces as too unsophisticated to be involved in such a matter.

Our sniping turned worse than it had been that afternoon and examination of the occasional individuals peopling the gutters proved too little to divert Holmes's foul mood. I dropped back to walk a few paces behind him, mentally reviewing the pickpocket's skills I'd been rehearsing all day.

Holmes stopped suddenly and I, having evidently been inattentive to my surroundings, walked directly into his back. My hands moved, quick and sly as we'd trained them to be. I was gratified to note that Holmes seemed, at long last, unaware of their retreat from his pockets.

"Did you notice anything odd about the fellow on the corner?" Holmes turned and peered at me, clearly expecting a prompt and accurate answer.

Fortunately, I had one. "Extraordinarily clean hands for a beggar, I'd say." Conjuring up my mental image, I added, "In fact, I'd wager he's the very fellow we're seeking in the Carlton matter."

Holmes arched an eyebrow. "Ah, 'we' are seeking someone, are we? And here I was under the impression that _I_ was seeking someone and generously allowing you to observe."

"And _I_ was under the impression that my plans to depart for Oxford in the fall were hardly a reason for demotion in our activities, but it seems that mistakes in perception abound lately." I couldn't stop myself from snapping back at him. While I ordinarily make allowances for Holmes's temper, as it is provoked by the failure of the world at large to meet his standards, I was tired and consequently unable to maintain the aplomb that would have served me at that point.

We glared at each other, eyes narrowed in frustration as they had been often that day. I was beginning to wonder if my friendship with Holmes might well be salvaged rather than damaged by my upcoming departure. The thought saddened me, and I relaxed my stance.

"Oh, very well. I believe the man you are seeking is back on that corner, and that he's made the rather bold move of secreting the missing papers among the general debris around him. Wrapped in carefully wadded newsprint, perhaps?" I paused, considering, and then added, "If you can draw him away, I might be able to drop something in that spot and conduct a detailed search for it. I have some insignificant correspondence which would mask the inclusion of other papers I might pick up."

Holmes nodded. "Yes, all right. I'll offer him some pay for carrying a fictitious parcel for me, or some such." He reached his hand into his pocket, presumably feeling for his billfold. An odd look crossed his face. "Russ, by any chance-"

I arranged my features into what I hoped was a facade of angelic innocence. From my own pocket I drew Holmes's billfold, deliberately leaving behind his pocket watch so as to have ammunition for a later volley as needed. "Were you looking for this, Holmes?"

He furrowed his brow at my hand and its contents, then raised his eyebrows until his eyes were comically wide. "When did you- No, I see, when I stopped after my moment of epiphany back there. I'd no idea my lessons had had such an impact on you, Russell." He settled his expression back into what had become his habitual disgruntlement. "I suppose you are to be commended for a satisfactory execution of a simple manoeuver. Now, had you managed to liberate both billfold and pocket watch, you might be considered-"

Holmes broke off abruptly at the sight of my other hand emerging from its pocket, the polished surface of his watch peeking between my fingers. Enjoying myself, I uncurled my hand and presented the pocket watch to him with a little bow. I also took advantage of the opportunity to slip his wallet into the pocket of his great coat, then tucked both hands behind the small of my back.

He stood there, in contemplation of his watch, became visibly aware of the new weight within his pocket, and reacted in the most extraordinary manner: he laughed. Not audibly, of course - Holmes always laughed silently when he was sincerely delighted with something. It was, I believe, the first time I had caused him to act so. I beamed at him, a foolish grin splitting my face, relieved to have ended the tension that had grown between us. I was, truth be told, pleased to have pleased him.

"My dear Russell," he began. And to my astonishment he drew me into his arms and rested his chin atop my head, the occasional chuckle still reverberating through his frame. There was, literally as well as figuratively, no longer a gap between us. I could hear his voice in his chest as he continued, "That was well done indeed. Russ, I am quite gratified to find that I have managed to hold your interest in the face of your upcoming plans." He released me and stepped back; his face was carefully neutral as he waited for my reaction.

"Holmes, for a detective who prides himself on his observational skills, you do have an amazing ability to miss what is patently obvious. I am here, am I not?" I spread my arms, in order to present a larger figure for his examination, and waited for his nod. "And when I am absent in future, it will be for specified time periods, will it not?" Another nod. "And you shall know my location during those absences?" A final nod. "Good. So we have established that my comings and goings will be far more regular, and informative, than those you practice. You may now draw your own inferences."

His neutrality softened into his normal expression as Holmes contemplated what I'd said. He didn't speak his thoughts aloud, but the tiny upward quirk at the corner of his mouth told me that we had finally put this particular trouble behind us.

I threaded my arm through his. "And now shall we get those papers and go home?"

He placed his hand briefly over mine, warm and familiar. "Yes, I think we shall."

And we did.


End file.
